Fall In the Air

Is it just me, or does Fall seem to be in the air? I went outside to head to work tonight, and I seriously thought about grabbing a sweatshirt. It was down right chilly. But, I decided to just grin and bear it. In a couple months we all be wishing it was 60 degrees during the day, let alone the night. Actually, I like the cool, crisp air of Autumn. Being a person who sweats somewhat uncontrollably at times, I like the prospect of walking from the car to the house without bursting into a sweat. My sweat usually comes on so fast when it's hot and humid that if you are standing too close to me you might get sprayed with sweat when it shoots out my pores. Okay, okay, I am exaggerating slightly. But only slightly. So, yes, I am looking forward to this most wonderful part of the year. If I have one complaint about Fall, it's that it isn't long enough. So, if fall is getting started now, it could be a nice long enjoyable season. Actually, it's been a very nice Spring and Summer thus far. It only got super hot a few times, and the humidity level seemed to be tolerable most of the time. In fact, if it was like this every year, I might actually enjoy living here. But, we won't go that far. Anyhow, fall does usually seem to fly by, so it's time to start planning for the next couple months so I can get the most out of it. One thing I know for sure is I have to go camping at least once, hopefully twice. I am not much on camping in the hot weather. You can't enjoy the camp fire and between the bugs and sweat squirting out of my body, it's not a fun time for me. So, when it's cool, and sometimes even cold, I love to go camping. I will say though, if you go camping in the cold, go with your wife or husband. This embarrassing story will highlight why. A few years ago, I went camping with my dog, Lucy, and an old buddy of mine. It must have gotten into the 20's overnight because Lucy's water bowl was frozen over in the morning. Before going to bed, it wasn't too bad. We sat by the camp fire sipping brandy and threw log after log on the fire. I thought my dog was going to spontaneously combust because she was sitting so close to the fire pit. But, then we headed off to the tent. Having a dog while cold weather camping is a must. Having two dogs while cold weather camping is a luxury! Anyhow, Lucy plopped down between me and my old buddy and we were competing for her attention since she is like having an electric blanket in the tent. Eventually we fall asleep. The next morning, I wake up and Lucy had moved down closer to our feet. I did not realize this. So, I roll over to snuggle up to my nice warm dog, and to my horrified surprise, I was snuggling up to my buddy. Now, I am about as confident in my sexuality as they come. There is no chance that I am gay. I find women to be way to amazing to ever find some big hairy guy attractive. For the life of me, I will never understand the whole concept. But, there is something very disconcerting about waking up while holding another man that closely. It was kind of like that scene out of "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles", only, fortunately, my hands were not between two pillows. But, we did immediately jump up and start talking about the Huskers. Thus the importance of cold weather camping with your wife or husband. Although, for some reason, women don't get a eeked out by human contact with the same sex. I wonder why that is? Oh well. Good for them, I guess. Well, now that I have thoroughly embarrassed myself, I guess I will head off to bed...with my beautiful WIFE!

Future of Communication, FTW

Txtin is roonin d wrld. I have been laid up for the past few days. I had a little minor inconsequential surgery. I won't bore you with the details, plus I don't want to tell you about it anyway. As a result, since Thursday afternoon, I have been laying here with computer in lap, shopping on eBay for some needed SCUBA equipment, reading about fantasy football for next weekends draft, and reading Husker insider's posts on my friends rivals.com account. You would think that most of the people that would be writing the things on the websites I have been looking at would be fairly intelligent people. I gather from what most of the posters on rivals.com say that they are college students or graduates. The people on eBay, you would think, would want to impress people with their intelligence so their potential customers would take them seriously. Especially when they are selling something that could mean life or death, like a SCUBA regulator. But what I find instead are people that can't spell. Now, I do not claim to be a spelling-bee champ from way back or anything remotely close to that. In fact, up until the past 10 years or so, I was a terrible speller. But, I think that over the years, writing up bids, contracts, and just goofing around with stuff like this blog has made me a better speller. I have only spellcheck to thank for that. I still goof up stuff like their and there every once in a while, but that is just because of my awesome typing speed. My fingers move faster than my brain most of the time. I just know that if I were an avid eBayer, I would want to make sure everything was spelled properly so people wouldn't think I was some sort of moron. For instance, today I was looking at regulators for diving. I don't think I want to purchase something of that significance from someone that spells compass, compus. Nor do I want to purchase something from someone that says they have many 'dive watchs' to choose from. Am I alone in this?

Then you have your Husker "insiders" that post all the various details of Husker football player's lives that they go to class with. These guys, for the most part, can't even type a complete sentence, plus they can't spell worth a lick. (worth a lick?) This seems to go for most people of that age bracket. The place where I get my occasional massages, this summer, they had an intern working there from the local massage school. At the end of the internship, he had to write a paper that stated what he learned during his internship and turn it in to his teacher. The intern asked my massage therapist to read his paper so he could critique it. My massage therapist told me it was like reading a text message from someone. Words were shortened up, spelled incorrectly and used incorrectly. Sentences were incomplete, and the thoughts were all over the place. That's our future. These are the future leaders of the free world. ROFL! We r scrwd, ftw!

Swimming With the Fishes

My first SCUBA trip is set. I have my passport, I have my plane ticket, I have a place to stay, and some SCUBA buddies to go with. Now all I need is some spending money. If you would like to help out, please send certified checks and/or money orders to my Paypal account. We also accept stocks, bonds, scrap gold, and real estate. We are going to Grand Cayman. I have never been there and am very excited. I have always wanted to go to an island. Of course, I have always dreamed of going while it was negative 20 degrees here in Stinkin' Lincoln and 85 degrees on the island. But, I can't afford such a trip. I can barely afford this one. Actually, I am lucky to be going at all. We actually have a ton of things going on the week that I will be gone and the week that I get back. My wife told me to go by myself so I don't forget all the SCUBA lessons I took and end up failing my open water certification. Yep, I got a great gal! She is going to mind the store while I am basking in the sun. If you know my wife, she wouldn't have had fun on the trip anyhow. She is not capable of detaching from life. Me, I am perfectly capable of not thinking about my problems for a week and then dealing with them when I get back. But, then I dread getting back to the problems. So, I see where she is coming from. Anyhow, I look forward to my little trip with my bestest buddy and swimming with the fishes. Hopefully they don't eat me.

Small Towns, Who Needs 'Em?

This week has been insane! Which, for the most part, is a good thing. Insanity in my life brings money to the bank book, eventually. Sometimes these big corporate moguls are a little slow to pay. They have an image to uphold, you see. God forbid they pay in a timely manner and make their profits look bad to their stockholders. I will stop myself there before I begin.

Anyhow, for one of my jobs this week I had to travel to Maryville, MO. Funny story about that. The day before the job, I called to confirm with the construction manager. I told him I was confirming for the new store in Marysville, KS. He said, I was mistaken, it's Maryville, MO. And it's for reasons like that I always call and confirm. Not because I am that incredibly smart, but because in the past I have been that incredibly dumb and ended up at the wrong place, or they had no clue I was coming that day, or something along those lines. Yep, that's right, I will only eat a poop sandwich once. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, or as George W. Bush once said, "There's an old...saying in Tennessee...I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee that says Fool me once...(3 second pause)... Shame on...(4 second pause)...Shame on you....(6 second pause)...Fool me...Can't get fooled again." Oh, "W", only you can put things so succinctly. Anyhow, back to Maryville, MO. Walgreens is on this new kick, I assume they are taking a page from the Walmart school of business. They have started putting fairly small stores in fairly small communities. In some cases, this has worked fairly well for them. I imagine in the case of Maryville, it will work better than most. If you have never been to Maryville, MO, let me save you the trouble. What a dump. Plus it has all those small town things going for it that just get on a person's nerves. For instance, we roll into town about 6:30 PM. We go and unload our equipment, make sure everything is good to go at the store, and then the plan is to go get some grub. By this time it is a little after 7 PM. Due to the fact that most places have already closed, our choices for food are McDonalds (puke), Burger King (puke), Sonic (double-puke) and Subway. There were also two restaurants that seemed a little too nice for two dirty Janitors to wander into. Plus I told my right hand man Juan that one of them seemed like the type of place that if he walked into it, the music would stop, you would hear a glass hitting the floor and breaking and an old lady screaming at the site of Juan. Then some husky redneck would say, "You boys lost?" So, we opted for Subway. Poor Juan ordered his food in his thick Spanish accent and everytime he said something the small town girl just looked at me for the Spanglish to English translation.

After eating, we headed back to the store. As we start getting everything set up, the worst thing that can happen when you are 130 miles from your shop, happened. We forgot something! In this case a dustmop. This is a construction cleanup, mind you. It's pretty hard to fake it if you don't have a dustmop. Way too much construction dust and hunks of debris of every kind. So, I told Juan to go ahead and finish up getting everything set up and I would run to Walmart (of course this hell-hole had a Walmart) and get a dustmop. Surely the only game in town would have a dustmop, even if it was small, it would be better than nothing. Let me reiterate, I hate Walmart. They have small classifications of everything you could possibly need but never exactly what you need. You know, Hardware department, with two packs of screws, a hammer, and both kinds of screwdrivers. Plus the place is so dog-gone big it's hard to find anything. So, I am wandering around, and I know I am close to where I need to be, but, much like Bono of U2, still haven't found what I'm looking for. Ironically, at that moment, a Walmart employee, DUSTMOPPING, sees my deer in the headlights look on my face and asks me if I need help finding something. I said, "You're not going to believe this. I need a dustmop." We shared a brief chuckle, and he set his dustmop aside and walked me a few aisles down to the Cleaning section and pointed me in the direction of their available dustmop. True to form, the "Cleaning Section" was two different types of brooms, a dustpan various "all purpose" cleaners and a dust mop. The picture above is what they had. That's right, all 8.7 inches of it for the not so low price of $16.97. It was that, or a push broom, which when you are sweeping 9,000 square feet, neither will work.

Suddenly, I had an idea, maybe if I told the guy what my plight was, he would let me borrow a dustmop and I could return it after I was done with it. Unfortunately, he didn't have the authority to make such a high command decision. Bummed out by this, I started looking around for some Cokes or something to take back to the barren Walgreens to keep Juan and myself refreshed. Then when I came back towards where the nice Walmart sweeper guy was working, there it was. Apparently this guy is a customer service guru, because he had left his dustmop leaning against a shelf and yet again went off to help some other person looking for something they, no doubt, don't sell. It was at this moment, little devil janitor Brandon popped up on my shoulder and said, "There's your answer! Take it!".

Then, little angel janitor Brandon popped up on the other shoulder and said, "Don't even think about it! Besides, you already told him where you were working. This small town would have all three of their police, plus county sheriffs come raid the Walgreens in search of the stolen dustmop."

Little devil janitor Brandon then says, "You aren't stealing it, you are going to use it and bring it right back! Come on, you chicken!"

Little angel janitor Brandon fires back, "Come on, your parents taught you better than that." And with that, I bowed my head in shame for even hatching such a plan and walked out of the Walmart empty handed. Then on the way back to the Walgreens, I notice a Sutherlands, and a True Value Hardware. I thought to myself, surely they will have something at one of those places. I roll into the strip mall where the two stores are bookends for the mall, and the parking lot is packed with cars. I thought, "Surely one of these places is open, it's not even 8 PM yet." But, as with most small towns, they roll up the sidewalks at 6 PM, and this strip mall was no exception. So, I wonder, where are all these cars from? Let's just say that a mom and pop video rental store in a small town must be a pretty good investment idea. Here it was a Wednesday night, and this 5,000 square foot video rental place was hoppin'. Then the redneck bar next door was also crawling with patrons. And that accounted for all the cars. So, it's clear to me that the favorite pastimes in Maryville, MO are movie watching, and drinking. Plus, as blatantly flirty as all the girls are there, I will give you one guess as to the other pastime. Geez! All I wanted was a stinkin' dustmop!!! Over an hour later, Juan had the store swept with that stupid push broom.

In short, I have learned that there are places that are even worse, than Stinkin' Lincoln! Believe it or not.

I Have Been Reborn!

(Yet another shameless ploy to use a picture of Marissa Miller.) I love sports! My favorite sport to watch is football, hands down. This is my favorite time of year. The weather is still warm, but football season is gearing up for some action. But, my favorite sport to play is baseball. Why? Because I am, or at least used to be, good at it. I played baseball last night for the first time in probably 8 years. That being the case, I am not nearly as good as I used to be. The nice thing about baseball for a guy that is horribly out of shape is that there is time in between plays to rest up and catch your breath. However, I will say, there was one time that I was praying the ball wouldn't be hit my way because I would have puked if I had to run after another ball. But, back in my hay day, I liked playing center field. I liked that position for two reasons, number one, my favorite player, Kirby Puckett, was a center fielder, and two, I loved to run after every ball that was hit in my general direction. Plus as a bonus, you don't get many line drives bouncing off your face when playing centerfield. But now, I am in no shape to be playing centerfield. Therefore, last night, I started out in rightfield. Yep, that's right, the position that is reserved for the worst fielder on the team. Actually, I volunteered for the position because I wasn't sure what I could, and could not do compared to my younger days.

After getting out of that inning, it was our turn at bat. The captain must have thought he knew something I didn't, because he had me lead off. It's funny to me that a game that means nothing can give a lead off hitter such butterflies. I had stepped into the batting cages about 5 years ago, and I remember it hurting back then. But, that was before I had three surgeries to "fix" my shoulders. The first time I swung the bat, I totally missed the ball, plus their was a twinge of pain. That got the butterflies really going. After a few bad pitches, I swung again, but this time I connected! It was a chopper right at the second baseman that was fielded cleanly and thrown to first base for the out.

Next thing I know we are back on defense. Once I figured out that I could throw, and that I could sort of run, I let our team captain know I could play third base if he needed me to. You see, our third baseman SUCKED! He was the weakest link... Good bye! Fortunately, another guy wanted to play third. I am not fond of line drives there in the "hot corner" due to the fact I have taken one too many off the face. Anyhow, that left me at second base. I don't mind second. In fact, I ended up making a double play when a line drive came to me (not off the face) and I quickly threw it to first base to double up the baserunner. It felt awesome.

The bottom of the second inning and I find myself at bat with two out and two runners on base. This time though, it was different. I had knocked the rust off and realized it didn't hurt that much to swing a bat. So now, it's game on! After fouling a couple off, I swung the bat nice and easy and just about hit it out of the park. I was still a good 30 feet short, but it went much farther than I thought it would. Regardless, it went sailing over the center fielders head for a stand up double.

I can't tell you how exhilarating it is to find out you are not as old as you think you are. Yeah, I am out of shape and definitely not as young as I used to be, but when it comes to baseball, I can still hold my own. If nothing else, last night has given me incentive to get back in shape. I really don't want to waste the last 4 or 5 years of "youth" that I have left. Maybe I should start injecting the "juice" so I can be like all the major leaguers out there. Call it a mid-life crisis if you will. Next think you know, I will own a 1972 Corvette with 427 big block. Truth be told, I have been waiting my whole life for my midlife crisis.

No Loitering!

I saw this sign today, and it made me laugh. Not because of what it said, but where the sign was posted. I was at the South Point mall here in Stinkin' Lincoln. I hope I am not the only one that finds this humorous. But, what else are you supposed to do at a mall. And, if we aren't supposed to loiter, why do they have benches for us to rest, and a courtyard with pretty things to look at. When doing these things, are we not loitering? Please note the following definitions for the word loiter:

1) to linger aimlessly or as if aimless in or about a place
2) to move in a slow, idle manner, making purposeless stops in the course of a trip, errand, etc.
3) to waste time or dawdle
4) to pass (time) in an idle or aimless manner

After looking at these definitions, I would think if you were to consult a thesaurus, you might find the word "shop", as a synonym. Yes, the very act of shopping is aimlessly lingering in a place, or moving slowly making purposeless stops. Many times, especially when I was younger, I would go to the mall just to waste and/or pass time in an aimless manner. TO LOITER IS THE VERY ESSENCE OF BEING AT A MALL!

Inmates Running the Asylum

Time to gripe.

I can't even really pinpoint what it is I am about to gripe about, but here it goes. I noticed the other day that the ratio for intelligent people to idiots has started to favor the idiots. The sad thing is, it is becoming harder and harder to tell who the idiots are. For instance, over the past year or so, I have hired (and fired) several seemingly well put together young men to work for me. At first they seem very normal, in fact perhaps even above board. But, after a few weeks of putting up a good front, they can no longer stave off what comes natural. They begin to call in sick because they have a little sniffle. They start asking for favors. They start making excuses for all their stupid acts. In other words, their true colors begin to bleed through. Not to mention that, you start to put the pieces of their life together, and see how they have come to the point they are now. Sadly, in most cases, their is no way on earth they are getting out of the hole they have dug for themselves.

Then you have the idiots that you can identify just by looking at them. For instance, tonight I was doing a little job that was in a strip mall. In between coats of wax I would sit outside and wait for the wax to dry and take in the sites. Oh boy. The first site to behold was a 60-something lady driving, what I believed to be, her daughter around dropping off phone books to the businesses in the strip mall. When the daughter got closer to where I was, it was pretty clear to me that this girl was delivering phone books to support her meth habit. How can a woman in her late 30's have so few teeth? What's sad is you can tell that at one time she was probably an attractive lady. Not anymore! Yuck!

The next site I got to see, was the bar across the parking lot. I couldn't see the people in the "beer garden" because of the privacy fence, but I could sure hear them, especially when it started getting closer to "last call". They weren't exactly discussing Obama's health care plan, or even their mama's health. I am sure what they were discussing was very important to them, but from an outsider looking in, it was quite pathetic. Then at about 1:15 AM these ladies came staggering out of the bar, as loud as ever, and jump into the Ford Taurus with parts from about three different Ford Taurus', and all different colors. Winners!

I feel kind of judgemental for saying all this, but sometimes you just have to call a spade a spade? (I wonder where that expression came from? Here is what I just found out: "calling a spade a spade" as an expression long predates the racial connotation of the word spade. As Random House explains, "to call a spade a spade" originated in ancient Greece.) I think it all shows that the world is broken. Kids think it's okay that Miley Cyrus dances on a stripper pole at the Teen Choice Awards, and if anybody says anything, the kids say we are being judgemental. Meanwhile, some 12 year old girl sees it and the next thing you know she has a baby on the way and is addicted to meth. This world is just continually going from bad to worse. And now that that the idiots are winning, is there any hope for recovery at the hands of man? Doubtful. Yep, we better get used to the inmates running the asylum.

Happy Anniversary!!! AWWWWCHOO!!!

This is going to be a short one because I am dead tired. But, I just noticed something and I have to share. I was looking at a website that documents the Dave Matthews Band's shows. I just wanted to see what the setlist was from last night. On that same page, they display the shows that the band has played on that particular date. Well, according to that website, it is my 5 year anniversary for the first DMB show I ever saw. Yep, 5 years ago I went to Bonner Springs, Kansas to see Dave and the boys. You may be saying, "Gee, thanks for sharing...", but that isn't what I found interesting. You see, 5 years ago on this date, I was sicker than a dog. I had a fever, and was trying desperately to get over the cold I had. I decided to go ahead and go to the show for two reasons: 1) I am cheap and didn't want to waste the ticket I purchased, and 2) I didn't want to disappoint the buddy I was going to the show with since he had the other ticket. For those reasons I gritted my teeth, popped some Sudafed and headed off to Kansas. But, what I find strange is that I am sick on this very same date, 5 years later. Does that mean anything? Is it perhaps allergies? Or is it just a big coincidence? OR could it be a conspiracy by the government!? Let's just say I will be paying closer attention to my DMB anniversary to see if I am sick every time. And to ward off the government and mind reading gizmos, I will be putting tin foil over my windows and make a tin foil hat. That'll stop 'em!

Summer Cold, No, It's HOT!

The common cold sucks! But without so much as a doubt, the common summer cold takes the cake! There is nothing worse, well maybe a few things, but up on my list of the worst things is being stuffed up when it is hot and humid. It's hard enough to breathe during a Nebraska summer as it is when you are the picture of health. You see, during the summer here in Nebraska it gets so humid it's almost like when you take in a breath you are trying to breathe while under water through a straw that's above the surface of the water. It just doesn't work! Then you bring the stuffy head into the equation and it's like trying to breathe under water without the straw. So you feel all crappy when you are out in that hot and steamy weather, so you decide to go inside. Though you are hot and sweaty from being out in the equivalent to hell (if there was such a thing) the air conditioning feels even worse. It makes your nose and throat sting with every breath. So you turn down the thermostat and turn off the ceiling fans. Next thing you know you are sweating like a fat man on a treadmill. It's just a no win situation. About the only time I have felt comfortable today was when I took a lukewarm shower. I can't spend the next few days in the shower, my fingers might stay like shrivelled prunes if I did that. The only answer is suck it up (along with a bit of snot) and go about your business. Though it may feel like this virus will hang on forever, there will come a time when I will wake up and not have to blow a cup of green goo out of my sinus cavity. Oh, how I do long for that day!

Walmart People

I have come to the realization that if I am having writers block, all I have to do is go to Menards. Not only do you save big money at Menards, you also run into alot of incredibly dumb people. My theory on why this is so, is the location of the Menards I frequent. You see, it is right next door to a giant Walmart. I am sorry if you shop at Walmart, but even if you do, you have to admit, Walmart draws some very I.Q. challenged characters. You go there and you start looking around the neighborhood for the trailer park. And, I know for a fact there is not a trailer park anywhere near this particular Walmart. Yet, the trailer... people come from far and near, mostly far, to shop at their one reason for living, Walmart. But, sometimes Walmart doesn't have the one thing they need. So, they go next door to the Menards. I am actually starting to appreciate it due to the ammunition it gives me for my blog. Anyhow, to my story.

I went to Menards the other day to get some trim for the outside of my garage. I went in and got everything I needed and headed to the checkouts. I get in line and when it's my turn I push my cart up so the cashier can ring me up. Now, at the Menards I go to, there is a register on the right and one on the left with the two lines of customers pretty much standing next to each other. There is enough room though that if you need to walk around your cart to get in front of it that it's no big deal. So, as I push my cart up to the cashier, I then go to try to step around to the front of my cart so I can get to where the debit card scanner is. Before I can get up there a 17 year old girl who was with her mother (Walmart people), tries to go around her mother with her cart and realized she couldn't make it around her rather stout mother. She just stops and stands there. I politely said, "Excuse me.", and she just looked at me blankly. I ended up having to move her cart while she was holding it to get by. As I walked by her cart I glanced at her to see if I had made her angry or maybe she would have realized she was in the way, and she still had that blank look on her face. Apparently she was very excited about her purchase. I still am not sure what it was but it was in a very large box. Her and her rotund mother then headed out to their vehicle while I was paying for my items. Once paid for, I headed out to the truck. That's when I noticed the two Walmart people at their car trying to stuff that giant box in their car. They tried the trunk, the back seat, the front seat and the back seat from the opposite side. The whole time the daughter is yelling at the mother, as if it's the mothers fault it won't fit. Having a feeling I was about to be offered some sort of reward for driving their package back to their trailer (this has happened to my 4 times at this Menards, Walmart people must think they can get a square peg in a round hole), I hurriedly put my items in my truck and was ready to bolt. That's when this nice man that was parked next to me offered to help them. He suggested taking it out of the box and see if it would fit that way. Next thing you know, he has it in there. That's when the guilt set in. Though I have rationalized it away by now, at the time, I wondered why I am not as nice as that guy. I guess we will never know. But one thing I do know is that a Menards next to a Walmart is excellent fodder for blogging!

Traffic VI: Turning Lanes

Yes, it is time for yet another installment of Stinkin' Lincoln Traffic. In this episode we will discuss that third lane that runs up the middle of a two lane road. Yes, the turning lane. Rather than widening a road so there are two lanes going each direction, Stinkin' Lincoln officials have decided it is sufficient to just add a turning lane. I am not sure why they bother. You see, 75-80% of the population do not know how to use a turning lane. It's like they think it is there so we don't have to drive so dangerously close to on-coming traffic, or perhaps they view it as decoration, those yellow dotted lines next to the solid yellow line sure are pretty, pretty as a canary. Over the weekend I was driving somewhere here in Stinkin' Lincoln (I can't remember where, I blocked it out), and some bozo stops to make a left turn with about one quarter of his car in the turning lane and the rest in my lane. The traffic was thick (Shocker!), and it was going to take a while for the guy to make his turn, so I gave a polite, yet forceful honk of the horn. The guy wigs out! Throws his hands up in the air and puts the hammer down on his PT Cruiser (putt-putt-putt) while gesturing wildly. All he had to do was move up about five feet. He would have then been in the turning, not blocking traffic, and still could have made his turn. But nooooooo! He has to go and make a huge deal out of it, when he was the bonehead that wasn't driving properly in the first place. Actually, this guy was at least a little bit in the turning lane, most people don't even bother to get in the lane at all. Then you have the idiots that use the turning lane as a passing lane. I live on a busy street with a turning lane running up the middle. At least once a day you will hear some yahoo rev up his 4 cylinder lawnmower engine and pass someone using the turning lane. Actually, the best is when it's a 10 cylinder truck. They tach it up and blow the slow driving little old lady's doors off, and make my whole house shake, which with the previous termite damage, that makes me a little nervous. Anyhow, it seems as though people here in Stinkin' Lincoln use the turning lane for just about everything BUT turning. So, if you find yourself in this fine and lovely city, bring your bazooka to blast the people that are turning in your lane out of your way. Don't say I didn't warn you!

Bowling, Yo!

About once a year my wife and I get a group together and bowl a few frames. Sadly, as time has passed, it is the one thing that I can do that still makes me feel fairly athletic. But tonight, bowling made me feel old. Not because of my bowling prowess, or lack thereof, but because we went to "Glow Bowl". On Sunday nights at the particular bowling alley we went to, they have a time between 9:30-11:30 PM that they turn off all the regular lights and turn on the black lights. Everything is glowing, thus the name. This is nothing new, every time we go, we go during this gimmick. Rather, what made me feel old is all of the teeny-boppers there and the music they played while we were there. It was really hard to tell how old the kids were that were there. Some were drinking, so I would assume they would be college aged, but you never know. The clothes most of them, especially the girls, wore made me blush. The music they played made me puke. I hate to sound like my parents, but every song they played sounded exactly like the previous one. They had music videos playing on a screen that went with the music, and every group was gimmick after gimmick. Lady Gaga, freak show, and talent is not her middle name. She just came up with something a little different than the next talentless hack. Plus, the majority of the "hip-hop" songs that were played were just one little catch phrase repeated ad nauseam. Yet, somehow, these morons make more in a week than I make in a year. I guess I should just come up with some quirky, yet catchy phrase and then put it to some technotronic beat. I could make a mint, yo! I think I just choked while trying to swallow my pride. I am not sure if what I experienced tonight is a sign of the times that we are living, or just the typical boy becomes man, man becomes old man scenario. Most likely, it's a little of both.

Lesson Learned...For Now

About once a year, I will have "one of THOSE jobs". The kind where most everything goes wrong. I foresee it taking 8 hours, and it ends up taking 14 hours instead. The worst part is all night I am just thinking, "I can't believe I bid this at $$$ when I should have bid it at $$$$. Every hour that passes I think, "Will this night ever end?". It actually used to happen at least a couple times a year, but I think maybe with age, and experience, I have been able to keep it at bay. You can bet that it won't happen again for a while. Right now my legs, feet, back, shoulders, and neck all hurt. If anything, that painful reminder of why I don't want to short myself either help or money will make me a little gun shy. I will probably lose the next 3 or 4 bids because I don't want to have another night like last night. But, 6 or 7 months from now I will want to go on a trip or buy some toy and I will start lowering my prices. Until, all of a sudden, I am having one of THOSE jobs again. The really sad thing is that my wife told me to not do this particular job due to the fact that the guy I did it for is a cheapskate. (Cheap skate? What does that mean?) Oh, and it just so happens that he is a City Councilman her in Stinkin Lincoln. Funny how most people here in this place are cheap. But, of course I didn't listen. But, this experience means that I will listen intently when my wife gives her opinion on a matter for a least 6 or 7 months. So, I guess that means at 6 months of success. I look forward to it!

No Touchy!!!

What is it about wounds and nice people? They seem to gravitate towards each other. You will be standing there minding your own business, 3 days post shoulder surgery, and some well meaning person you haven't seen in a while will come up, give you a giant bear-hug and slap you on the back. OUCH! No, I haven't had surgery... lately. But, there is a guy that goes to our church-meetin' place that was recently in a very bad boating accident that had, oh, 10 surgeries, or so, to try to keep from having to cut off his arm. His arm was nearly torn from his body and in actuality was virtually detached, literally hanging on by a thread. On top of all that he nearly died from the subsequent infection. Dirty lake water and a nearly detached limb don't mix. Well, actually they do. Far to well it turns out. This was about 6 weeks ago that this all happened, and he just got out of the hospital about 2 or 3 weeks ago. So, he is far from healed. But he made his way back to the meetings and, of course, everyone was really happy to see him, back from the dead, as it were. I counted at least 5 ladies come up and give him a big bear hug and slap on the back. I instantly went back to last winter when I had both shoulders operated on about 12 weeks apart from each other. You miss a few meetings and people are happy to see you back and they instantly forget you were recently cut open. There were two people in particular that if I saw them coming, I would go the other way and go hide in a men's stall if I had to. One time I made the mistake of not wearing my sling. Big mistake. You have that thing on and people are reminded that you are not 100%. So, from that time on, I was sure to wear the sling if I was in any pain whatsoever. Plus, if one of the aforementioned nice people came my way, I would yell, "NO TOUCHY!!!". Worked like a charm. (What that is called is creative license.) Seriously though, the best was when I was standing there talking to someone, and one of the nice people made a sneak attack. The old fella came up behind me and started giving me a shoulder rub. I about jumped through the ceiling. From that point on my wife played goalie, and I am happy to say she had a shutout.

In closing, try and remember when someone has surgery, they pretty much don't want you to touch them. If you do touch them, stay as far away from their surgical area as possible. But if you end up being the one who has surgery, broken arm, whatever, always wear something that will remind people which side and where the injury is. Wear it even if you don't need it. Finally, employ a goalie system. It will pay dividends, I promise.

Embarrassing Moment

Though I could take this experience to my grave and no one would be the wiser, I have to share this embarrassing moment. As a member of the Building Service industry, I, like my brethren, have an unwritten rule. If it's in the break room, out in the open, it's fair game. I'm not talking about something unopened, it must have the seal broken, otherwise you have crossed the line. When you are working late at night, busting hump trying to get done, you rarely stop for so much as a drink of water (if you did you would screw up the drinking fountain you just cleaned), let alone to grab a bite to eat. So, when you see a bag of chips just sitting there, beckoning, it would be rude not to partake. Potato chips taste incredible when your stomach is growling at you like a Pit Bull. Tonight, I started work at 7 PM and by 2 AM I was at my last job. I was so hungry. I step into the break room, and... NOTHING! Come on! So, I go about my business and start cleaning up, when low and behold... A CAN OF PRINGLES! I lightly shake the can to ascertain it's contents. Yep! I lift the lid off, peer inside and I see those gloriously, yet unnaturally curved and processed wonders. There were about a dozen in the can and discombobulated from their usual stack. I reach in and grab two (it's important to never be greedy when partaking of the break room booty), and pop them in my mouth. After about two chews, I notice a strange taste... it's... what is that flavor... it's smokey tasting. At this moment I stop chewing and peer back into the can. It's at this time I finally notice the cigarette butts sitting in the can next to the discombobulated chips. Yes, that's right, someone used it as an ash tray. So, there I am, with a mouth full of chips, wondering what my next move should be. I could run to the restroom about 20 feet away, which houses the only trashcan on that level (why they don't have a trashcan in the break room is beyond me!). No, that's too far. I could spit the partially masticated chips back in the can. No, that breaks a cardinal rule in break room snack time, never leave evidence of your indulging in the sinful treat. I decided to go with option 3, continue chewing and swallow. Gross, I know, but it seemed like the best option at the time. Besides, it's Pringles, do some ashes and cigarette butts really make it that much more gross? Besides, once you pop, you can't stop.

Super-Size Me!

I feel like garbage. The reason for this can be summed up in the old adage, "you are what you eat". Last week that meant I was fast food. Just thinking about how much of it I ate this past week makes me a little queasy. With doing business stuff and putting siding on my garage, I have been too busy to eat anything but fast food. Actually, if my wife wasn't also busy I would have been okay. But it was a "fend for yourself" week when it came to lunch. Therefore, I feel like I have gained 5 pounds, and have that wonderful bloated feeling that comes with salt injected, grease laden, junk food that you stuff your face with. There is an interesting expression, "stuff your face". I wonder if fast food joints came up with that one so you would think about what you are really stuffing. Anyhow, lately, I have been trying to avoid fast food, if for no other reason than if I have a cheeseburger from Wendy's, or worse yet, Don and Millie's, I gain 7.5 pounds. So, this week it's nothing but turkey sandwiches and fruit for lunch. It's interesting getting older. I have never been skinny, but there was a time I could go to the pool and take off my shirt and not have women and children (and men for that matter) running for the exits. But then I turned 35. The metabolism slowed to a crawl but the hunger pangs, and more specifically, the cravings came with the same regularity. I have lost and gained weight off and on for the last 6 years or so. I think it is time to get back on the horse and try, try again. What fad diet should I try? How about something that makes me poop a lot? Or, what about going vegan? I guess those are kind of one in the same. At any rate, send me your diet ideas. If you know my email, drop me a line. If you don't, make a comment. Or make a comment and drop me a line. Or, I guess you could call. Maybe we will see each other this weekend. If so, tell me then. Send it by carrier pigeon if you must. Just send it! (Can you feel the desperation?)

The 3 F's

Tonight was a night of food, friendship and fermentation. You have to love the three f's! You may be wondering, "What sort of hooligans were you consorting with in Lincoln that had the devils Kool Aid, alcohol?". Well, there are close knit sects of people that partake in the occasional libation or two...or three, or four. What we do is find someone that has a house with an 8' privacy fence in their back yard, and quietly sip our nectar. We have a lookout that knows exactly how to make the call of the woodpecker to give us a warning. The problem is there are so many woodpeckers around here, every time we hear the call we duck our beer in our prearranged spots and get out the Lipton iced tea until the coast is clear. By the time you get half way done with a beer, it's as warm as my dog's poo that I have to pickup on walks. Yep, good times!

A Purist In the Purest Sense

We are currently in the process of siding our garage. Keeping in the same style as our house, we have chosen to put up cedar siding. Many people think I am stupid for doing so, with having to paint it, and it's a little more difficult to install, and it is a bit pricey. But what it boils down to is, I am a purist in the purest sense. I live in a house that was built in 1917 for a reason. I love old things and the way they were made. I sometimes laugh at some of the things the old farmer that built this house did. Apparently having things plumb, level and/or square were optional in the early 20th century. Regardless, things were still built better back then. All the lumber in my house is the real deal, 2x4s, 2x6s, 2x8s, etc. are all true to size. The wood floors have a patina on them that you can only get in aged wood. Because of my strict purism, I had to use cedar siding. The thought of putting, of all things, vinyl siding up makes me throw up in my mouth a little. (Too much information?) I realize that vinyl siding is virtually maintenance free, but do you realize it takes hundreds of thousands of year for vinyl siding to decompose in a landfill, should it ever end up there. I'm not a "tree hugger", per se, but it does pain me to think about something sitting in the ground forever.

So, I have to go the cedar siding route. When everyone around me is trying to make old things look like they were built yesterday, I will continue to stay true to my purist ways. See you at the antique store.